"Good evening, sir."

"Good evening, Sister."

The young man sat across from the Holy Maiden once more.

Another sigh followed—one the nun had grown familiar with.

"You sigh so often, sir. Is something troubling you deeply?"

"Do you know of transmigrators, Sister?"

"You mean... summoned heroes from other worlds? I’ve heard tales." Violette didn’t understand why he’d brought this up, but her duty was to listen. She’d answer honestly.

"I’m one of them," the young voice replied, tinged with resignation.

"Eh?" The Holy Maiden froze, struggling to grasp his meaning.

"*Eh?!*" On her side of the confessional, Violette covered her mouth. "You... truly are?!"

"You don’t doubt my words?" The young man chuckled softly.

"You’d have no reason to lie to a nun. And I can’t believe a man who built his life from nothing would deceive someone like me."

"So... you’re an otherworldly hero..."

"Just a traveler from another world. ‘Hero’ is too grand."

"But you study at Brave Academy! You said you were born a commoner—surely you’re extraordinary!" Violette’s genuine awe made the young man’s chest flutter.

*She has such a sweet way with words.*

*I’m dead.*

"That’s what I wanted to explain," he continued calmly. "Before I turned sixteen, I only had a vague sense that I didn’t belong here. On my sixteenth birthday, all my memories snapped into focus."

"I see," Violette murmured, nodding.

"So many things... so much I can’t share with anyone."

"I understand..." Her voice softened.

"Yeah," he exhaled, a weight lifting. "It’s been bottled up for so long. Feels good to finally tell someone."

Violette pressed her lips together.

*So this is it. Homesickness spanning not just miles, but worlds.*

"What was your world like?" she asked gently.

"I’d have told you anyway," he laughed. "It was a dazzling, bustling place."

"I’d love to hear about it. Please?"

"Of course," he agreed warmly. "Where to start? Culture? Technology? Philosophy?"

"You called it ‘bustling’—how so?"

"For starters, in my homeland, fewer than one in fifty thousand people die from hunger or cold."

"One in fifty thousand..." A trace of longing colored her voice.

"Most could earn enough through work to feed and clothe themselves. And communication? Endless ways. You have magic communicators here—but in my world, devices let people see and hear each other face-to-face from anywhere. Not just voices. Real-time images."

"Wow..." Violette breathed.

"Some even earn coin through these devices," he explained. "They broadcast to everyone holding one—ah, it’s tricky to describe. Think of it as a magic that projects your image worldwide for all to see."

"I see..." Violette pondered. "But... must such a device be terribly expensive?"

"Not at all. Most workers could afford one with a month’s wages."

"So anyone could share their voice and image across the globe?" Her eyes blinked in confusion.

"Exactly."

"Then..." She imagined it. "How wonderful. Kindness could flow freely between everyone..."

The young man stiffened.

Then let out a bitter chuckle.

*Ah, sweet naive soul.*

"Sister, do you think malice or kindness leaves a sharper mark?" he asked.

"You mean..." Violette wasn’t foolish—she simply chose hope.

"Those who profit from these devices crave attention. Doing good is hard. Spreading evil? Effortless." He felt compelled to shatter her innocence, just a little. "Tell me—what sticks with you more: strangers smiling ‘good morning’ today, or someone hurling insults?"

"I... suppose kindness lingers longer."

"But do you remember every face that showed you kindness?" he pressed.

"I do," she answered earnestly.

Silence.

He hesitated. *Should I stain that purity?*

No. It wasn’t his place to decide what was best for her.

"Well... your kindness is rare. Not everyone shares it. So..."

"You held back earlier, didn’t you?" Violette asked.

"I did. But I’ve changed my mind."

"Was it about me?"

"Yes."

"Please say it. I sense your goodwill."

"It’s not pleasant. Nor necessary."

"Let me judge for myself."

"Words leave marks. Are you sure?"

"Tell me."

"I shouldn’t have brought this up," he finally refused. "I’m sorry. Some things... I could never say to you."

"Sir, you—" Violette sighed. "Were you going to give examples? Swear words?"

"...Yes."

"From your homeland?"

"How did you—?"

"I guessed. I’m curious."

"This..." He faltered. "Saying them makes me ashamed of myself."

"Then teach me one or two phrases from your world?" Violette hadn’t meant to steer the conversation here—but *otherworldly* swear words? With him teasing her curiosity?

She wasn’t drawn to vulgarity. But prefixed with "otherworldly"? That was different.

"In my culture, filial piety is sacred. Mothers are deeply revered. So the cruelest insults... target a person’s mother."

"I see..." Violette nodded slowly. *A land that honors mothers so highly—how vulgar could their curses truly be?*

"The simplest, most direct insult is..." He trailed off, already regretting it.

*Corrupting a holy nun. How vile am I?*

"Sir?"

"I’m... so sorry. Truly." His voice trembled. "It’s... implying you’d... force yourself on someone’s mother."

"I see..." Violette’s quiet reply held understanding—and revulsion. "But it’s... bearable."

"It gets worse."

"Worse?" She froze.

"Let’s not. I feel guilty just discussing this with you."

"Sir..." Violette’s emotions tangled—disgust, curiosity, a thrill of forbidden knowledge. "You’ve started. Please finish."

"Promise you won’t repeat them. If you did... I wouldn’t know what to do."

"I promise."

"Alright."

Soon, the confessional booth echoed with profanity.

The Holy Maiden of the Church—symbol of purity—listened, wide-eyed, as an otherworldly traveler unleashed a torrent of vulgar, explosive insults.

She was utterly shaken.

"You see?" the young man whispered weakly. "Malice leaves a deeper mark, doesn’t it?"

"Ah..." Violette’s voice drifted, dazed. "Mm."

"Some profit by staging outrageous verbal fights for attention, so—" He couldn’t continue.

Her stunned silence mirrored his own guilt. Even unseen, he knew she was reeling.

"Sir... your world... holds too much malice," Violette murmured, shaken.

"I didn’t mean to—" he stammered in defense.

"It’s alright. I asked. I’m glad to know your world better."

"Really?" He sounded doubtful.

"Really." Violette forced a smile, drawing a shaky breath.

*Suddenly, I feel unclean.*

"Sir... tell me more about your world?"

"What aspect?"

"The malice."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

"In our world, communication is instant. As you said—kindness spreads fast. But malice? It’s naked, raw. Even I, who’ve seen darkness, find it chilling. Are you sure?"

"I’m sure," the Holy Maiden replied firmly.